


Pizza Time

by emmram



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, also: pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 19:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmram/pseuds/emmram
Summary: Miles pays a visit to Peter after the devastating events at the end of the game.





	Pizza Time

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been watching playthroughs of the latest PS4 Spider-Man game on youtube on and off for the past several days, and for the first time in my life I regret having no interest in or aptitude for video games. It looks fantastic, and the story telling and characterisation is simply Top. Notch. Enough that, despite chronic writer’s block and another indefinitely stalled Spiderman fic, I felt inspired to write this little coda set near the very end of the game.
> 
> SPOILERS for the whole game, people. Also I’m trying out their voices for the first time; please let me know if they don’t ring true.

“Um… Pete? Hey, Pete, you in there?”

Miles transfers pizza boxes from one hand to the other and presses his ear against the door. He can hear something dripping loudly—sounds like a pretty bad water leak, though he’s fairly certain May’s apartment building escaped unscathed in all the chaos of the last few weeks—some news program droning faintly in the background, and—

And—okay. That’s _definitely_ the sound of somebody crying. Sniffling, sobbing, the works.

This was _such_ a bad idea.

Miles inhales deeply, clears his throat, hesitates twice, then thrice, before finally knocking sharply on the door. “Peter?” he calls. “Peter, come on, man, open up.”

The crying stops and there’s a dead silence. Then: “… Miles?”

“Yeah,” he says, and then, weirdly, inexplicably afraid that Peter’s forgotten, adds, “M-Morales. Miles Morales. You know, um. From F.E.A.S.T?”

“Miles, um.” Peter clears his throat. “Come on in! The door’s open.”

In the all-too-brief time that he’d known her, May seemed to spend almost all of her time at F.E.A.S.T; Miles had half-expected to find her apartment musty and half-empty. But it’s surprisingly cozy for being barely used; the walls are a cheery yellow, absolutely covered in pictures of amateur art and family photos. One wall is entirely taken up by a bookcase: mixed in with cookbooks and novels are engineering and biochemistry tomes; yet another is dedicated to an impressively full trophy case. The furniture and the drapes are mismatched yet somehow neat and cosy-looking.

It’s… suffocating, honestly, to realise just how much of a person’s left behind when they’re gone; to look at something as simple as a goofy picture or a worn baseball mitt and to _know_ but never _understand_ that they were there one day and the next… they’re not.

… okay. Okay. Miles isn’t going to lose his nerve, he _isn’t_. Besides, the thought of Peter sitting here all alone, crying, is just—what’s that fancy word?—too _wretched_. He isn’t going to do that to Pete.

Peter’s sitting on the couch in front of the TV, but gets up when he sees Miles. “Hey,” he says, and both of them pretend they don’t hear his voice cracking. “Um. Is everything okay back at the centre? I could come around if—”

“What? No!” Miles drops the pizza boxes on the coffee table. “I just thought—you know, you probably didn’t have the time to grab some lunch today, so I got some pizza for the both of us.”

Peter stares, red-eyed, at the boxes for a long, blank moment before his face relaxes in a smile. “Thanks,” he says. “And you’re right, I haven’t had a bite since—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t even remember.”

“Yeah, well, the pineapple and chicken sausage is a classic, but I wasn’t sure you’d be a fan, so I got one that’s just cheese and one pepperoni, so—”

“Thanks, Miles, but you needn’t have worried. God always intended for pineapple to be a pizza topping,” Peter tells him seriously.

Miles stares.

After a beat, Peter starts laughing. “Sorry if I freaked you out. Thanks, really.”

Both of them settle down with a box each on their laps. They eat in silence for a few minutes before Miles ventures, “So… uh. What are you planning to do with this place?”

Peter tilts his head towards a pile of empty cardboard boxes in a corner of the hall. “I’ve been trying to pack up all day, but I guess I’m just, uh—” he clears his throat, “—just too distracted.”

“Cool. I could help if you wanted—” _Yikes! Back up, Miles, back up!_ “—but, uh, if you don’t, I’d totally understand, that’s cool. There’s still time—you probably need some more time, right, without me stomping all over the place, and—”

“Hey.” Peter nudges him with his foot. “Thanks. I just might take you up on your offer.”

There’s a few more beats of uncomfortable silence. “I know I’m gonna sound annoying,” Miles says quietly, “but you’ve barely touched your pizza.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m not terribly hungry.”

“And now I’m going to sound even more annoying,” Miles continues, “but it helps, you know. Having someone remind you to eat and sleep when you’ve seemingly lost the ability to do either. Like, it seems impossible, but it helps.”

“Yeah.” Peter’s voice is just a whisper now. “I’ve been around this block a few times now. Usually it’s Aunt May telling me that.”

“Annoying but true cliché number three: you’ve got friends. You’ve got MJ, and me, and.” Miles looks down. “You gave me a chance to climb out of a really dark place. I don’t know if I can help you the same way, but I want to try, Pete.”

Peter’s sniffing again, and Miles, heart pounding, doesn’t really want to look, but he turns anyway. Peter’s put away the pizza and is twisting what looks like an old cardigan in his hands. “I’m so _tired_ ,” Peter says, his voice cracking with the weight of the last word.

“So take a nap,” Miles says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It’s like he’s been waiting for permission. “Okay,” he says, like he’s forced the word around a lump in his throat, “okay.” He drags his feet on the couch, curls up, and his eyes close. Miles fetches a blanket from the hall and drapes it carefully over him.

Miles settles down, opens a pizza box and picks up a slice, then decides against it and reaches for another box. He’ll save the pineapple monstrosity for when Peter wakes up.


End file.
